Fathomless
by luvin-benadam
Summary: When someone succeeds in poisoning Mary, threatening her life, how far will Francis and Bash go to hunt down the people responsible and save Mary's life?
1. Chapter 1

There was an unseasonable chill in the air when she woke that morning, a deep cold that settled into bones and radiated throughout the body, unceasing in its fervour. Mary rolled onto her side and begged for sleep to take her again but she knew that it was futile. Guilt was still tugging at her after her kiss with Bash, consuming her thoughts of her betrayal of Francis. She knew that if she expected Francis to treat her with respect and dignity in their marriage, then it was required of her to do the same. And kissing his brother definitely did not count under that. Mary wanted to tell Francis, to hopefully ease herself of the burden of what she had done but she was terrified that he would resent her for it. With few allies and many enemies, keeping Francis on her side was of the utmost importance.

When she realized that sleep was no longer an option, Mary summoned her servants and dressing maids, bathed, put on a dress, paired it with what she hoped was a convincing smile, and was ready to face the day. A knock sounded on the door shortly after she secured her jewelled headpiece to her hair and the servants were quick to answer.

The page entered, his eyes scanning the room for Mary, and said, "The Dauphin of France seeks an audience with Your Grace."

Mary nodded and motioned to the servants that they were dismissed as Francis entered the room. He made her heart skip a beat as he walked in, his expression unreadable as he took a seat in the chair next to her.

"Good morning," she said with a smile.

Francis tried to muster a smile back but all he could think about when he looked at her lips was his brothers pressed against them. "Will you take a walk with me?"

Confusion knit itself between her eyes. The weather was cool and the last thing Mary wanted to do was be outside. But if it meant getting to spend some time with Francis then she was willing to sacrifice some warmth for his company.

"Sure."

He stood from his seat and held his hand out for her, his gaze falling down onto the face that haunted his dreams, and let out a sigh of relief when she placed her delicate hand in his own.

"Is there any reason for this walk?" Mary asked as they reached the castle grounds. She wrapped her arms around herself in hopes of being a little warmer.

Francis hesitated and kept his eyes straight. He knew that if he looked at her his resolve would soften and he wouldn't be able to concentrate. "I just…" he searched for the right words. "I just wanted a little privacy with you."

He chanced a glance in her direction in time to see the blush creep across the bones of her cheeks and fought the smile that wanted to break across his face. He loved that he had that effect on her with just his words. He wished he could show her all the other affects he could have on her.

"Francis there's something I need to tell you," Mary said. She needed to tell him now before she lost her nerve. He deserved to know the truth.

"I know you kissed Bash."

Mary stopped dead in her tracks, the blush disappearing from her cheeks. Francis stopped and faced her, trying to read the expression on her face.

"He told you?"

Francis shook his head. "I saw the two of you by the lake. I had come to apologise for losing my temper with you earlier."

Mary hung her head in shame. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "I had too much to drink and not enough to eat and I was so angry and upset that you were choosing Olivia over me."

"Is that what you think?" Francis asked.

Her eyes darted up to meet his in a look that dared him to say otherwise.

"Mary I was not choosing Olivia over you. This is all new to me, having someone to answer to, having someone that I have to be mindful of hurting in my actions. Believe me, hurting you is the last thing that I want to do. But you have this way of getting under my skin like no one ever has before. You infuriate me in a way that makes me want you all the more."

Mary didn't know what to say.

"So you're not mad that I kissed Bash?"

Francis ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Mad? No. But seeing you kiss Bash made me realize just what it is that I would be losing if I continued to treat you the way that I have been."

Mary smiled and reached a hand across the gap separating them, placing her palm on the elaborate designs etching across Francis' chest. "I don't want to lose you either."

Francis stepped closer and cupped his hand against her cold cheek, rubbing his thumb lightly across the soft skin beneath it. "I would really like to kiss you right now. So I can show you what a real kiss is like," he said with a sheepish smile.

"I think I might allow that."

He leaned closer and pressed his lips against hers, soft at first, then more urgent, filled with the passion of learning that he could lose her, desperate in his desire for her. She could feel the burning desire for him growing with every second that he was pressed against her. When they broke apart his eyes found hers, radiant with longing, cheeky smile pulling up the corners of her lips.

"Let's get you inside, you look freezing," Francis said, wrapping his arm across her shoulders and guiding her back towards the castle.

"Fetch Queen Mary something warm to drink, could you?" Francis asked the first servant they saw at the entrance to the castle.

The servant nodded and ran off. Francis turned to Mary and wrapped her small frame in his arms, rubbing his hands against the fabric of her back to abate the shivering her body had produced from the cold. She laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in his proximity, revelling in their closeness.

"Sorry to interrupt," the servant said as he came back. "I have a drink for the Queen." He handed the drink to Francis, bowed and exited.

Francis handed the cup to Mary. The metal was warm in her hands from the hot liquid inside. Her shaking hands raised the cup to her lips and took a grateful sip, the warmth sliding down her throat and warming her from within.

"Thank you," she said.

Francis placed a kiss on her cheek. "You are most welcome."

He took her free hand in his as she took another sip, then placed the cup down on the sill of the window beside her. This time she noticed a funny aftertaste. Something metallic and peculiar. Suddenly the warmth was too hot. So hot it felt as though it was burning her from the inside. Mary placed her free hand to the spot on her chest that was constricting.

"Francis," she gasped.

He looked at her in horror, face pale, eyes bright with terror. "Mary are you okay?"

Her breaths were coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Mary! Mary talk to me!"

Two guards came rushing down the hall at the sound of Francis' terrified voice.

"Get a physician!" He yelled to them. "Mary, it's okay. You're okay."

But her breathing was more laboured now. Francis wrapped one arm around her waist just in time as she succumbed to the pain and fainted in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince's did not beg. Future Kings did not lay on the ground and grovel with whatever God they found salvation in and plead for anything. But at the moment Francis would have begged anyone and anything if it meant keeping Mary alive.

His heart was in his throat, beating quickly and painfully against him, the thrum so loud it was drowning out all sense from his mind. He couldn't focus. He could only feel her weakened body in his arms, eyes closed, face pale, chest barely rising. Francis was panicking. He could see the entire future he had planned for himself crumbling in front of him the same way Mary had crumbled into his arms. While Francis had never been sure if France's alliance with Scotland was a good one from a political standpoint, he was now sure that he wanted their union more than ever for a personal standpoint.

"Please wake up." He stroked her face, still cold from their walk outside, trying to warm the life back into her. "Where is the physician?" He yelled into the corridor.

Across the stone walls echoes of hope could be heard, the hurried footfalls of a mass of people making their way to them, to what Francis hoped was Mary's salvation. He pressed his hand against the long arch of her neck and felt the reassuring thrum of her heart, weak and thready but still beating.

"What happened?" Cried a voice. Francis didn't care enough to look up and see who it was, he only cared that it was someone that could help Mary.

"She drank from that cup," Francis rose his hand and pointed to the chalice on the window sill. He was surprised to find how badly his hand was shaking, "And then started holding her chest. She looked like she was in pain." His voice cracked. "And then she collapsed."

The physician took his place on Mary's other side, his fingers prodding her neck, her chest, lifting her eyelids. "Someone bring me that cup," he cried to the room.

Someone brought it over and the physician raised it to his nose and sniffed.

"What is it?" Francis asked.

"Her pupils are dilated and there's a hint of a berry smell in this cup. I can't be sure but I think it's belladonna."

"But that will kill her!" Francis exclaimed, tightening his grip on her lifeless form.

"It would depend on the dose she was given. How much of it did she drink?"

Francis shook his head, trying to shake the fear off with it. "Two sips, I think."

The physician nodded. "Lets get her back to her rooms. If she didn't ingest enough to kill her then she's in for a rough couple days."

Francis wanted to ask what that meant but he was too busy clinging onto the thin hope that she had only drank enough of the poison to just be sick, not to kill her. A couple of the servants brought a stretcher to them and Francis helped them lift her onto it, shoving one of them aside to take his place. He would not leave her. They placed her gently onto her bed, covering her with a thin blanket and all stood helplessly around her.

"What do we do now?" Francis asked.

The physician gave him a look and swallowed. "I can make a potion to ease her pain, but there is no remedy for belladonna. We can only wait to see how much she drank. Time will tell."

"What happens if she only took a little, not enough to kill her?"

The responding look was grim. "She will be feverish and will start to hallucinate, start seeing things that are not here. I don't know how bad it will be until she wakes."

Francis felt his heart sink to his feet. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His future wife was dying and there wasn't a single thing he could do to help her.

"Someone alert the King and Queen. And then bring me Bash."

He pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and sat down, took her cold hand in his and placed a kiss to it. While worry was still gripping him to his core, a new emotion had settled into his gut that was bubbling up, white hot and unignorable. Someone had tried to kill Mary. Fury raced through him. Francis was going to find whoever had tried to hurt her and he was going to make them pay, even if it meant paying with their life.

King Henry, Catherine and Bash all arrived a short time later, demanding answers that Francis did not have. He quickly explained the situation, then asked for a word with Bash alone. The King and Queen left with their reassurances that they would return to check on Mary later, leaving Bash and Francis alone with the sleeping Queen.

"I need to find whoever is responsible for this, Bash," Francis said through clenched teeth.

"I'll look into it," Bash replied.

"No," Francis said. "I need to do it. I want you to stay with Mary. I need someone here I can trust."

Bash felt the pang of guilt rack through him. "Don't be long. She'll be asking for you when she wakes."

Francis placed a hand on Bash's arm. "Take care of her, brother." And then left the room.

Francis stormed through the halls with a determined resolve he had never felt before, winding his way through the stone halls to the kitchen in the belly of the castle. He thrust open the door with a bang and stood on the threshold, watching the staff scramble as they realized that the Dauphin of France was amongst them.

"I demand that all servants in these kitchens gather forward here," he proclaimed, feeling braver than he felt with adrenaline coursing through his veins.

They quickly assembled in front of him. Francis looked at each of their faces carefully, trying to remember which one it had been that had brought the cup to them. Disappointment coursed through him when he realized that the one he was looking for was not among them.

"I am looking for a young gentleman, possibly kitchen staff, that came here a short time ago to get a cup for Queen Mary."

The room was full of silent, scared faces. "He left, Your Majesty. As soon as he came back to the kitchen."

"Come forward."

A small girl walked to the front of the crowd, no more than an yearly teenage but small in stature and voice.

"His name?"

Her eyes were filled with a sense of betrayal.

"You will be rewarded for your honesty and bravery," Francis prodded.

"Charles Stafford."

"He works in the kitchens here?"

She shook her head. "No Your Majesty. He's a stable boy. But he's here often."

"And where did he go after he came back here?"

"He didn't say. Just came to take his things and left."

"What's your name?" Francis asked gently.

"Anne, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Anne. You've been a great help to your kingdom today."

Francis turned on his heel and left. He had a name, a lead, something to go on to track down the monster that dared to make an attempt on Mary's life right in front of him. He was about to walk to the stables when another servant approached him from behind.

"Your Majesty, it's Queen Mary. She's awake and asking for you."

Francis' heart jumped and the hope that Mary might pull through it rose. "Is she alright?"

The servant shook his head. "She's not well, Your Majesty. She thinks…"

"What?' Francis asked, fear gripping him again.

"She thinks that the Crown Prince of Portugal, Tomas, is in her room. She keeps yelling and screaming."

Francis' heart dropped. He had clung onto the hope that Mary was going to be okay, that she was going to pull through and be the same girl she had always been. But it had been naïve of him to believe that she could get through it without any ill effects at all. Francis ran. Ran from the servant, from the kitchen, back through the many halls of the castle until the pain in his ribs was too much to bare, until his lungs seared with pain. He walked the length of her hallway until the screams reached his ears. Tears sprung into his eyes. She was suffering.

He opened the door and the cries became more pronounced, more anguished, filled with dread and terror and desperation.

"Please." She was sobbing, curled into the very corner of her room with her knees pulled tight against her chest, face buried into the palms of her hands. "Please make him leave, Bash!"

"Mary there is no one here that is going to hurt you, I promise. Tomas is not here."

Bash was crouched at her feet, trying desperately to calm her down.

Her racking sobs just became louder. "He is, he is. He's over there. Please don't let him hurt me." She raised a shaking hand to point to the corner opposite without looking up.

Francis ached to make it better for her. It was breaking his heart to see Mary in so much pain. He crossed the threshold between them and placed a hand on Bash's shoulder. His brother turned around and his expression was one of complete relief. He stood from his position and traded places. Francis sat on the floor at Mary's feet, wary of touching her.

"Mary?" He asked quietly.

Her sobs quieted but she didn't look up.

"Mary, it's Francis. Can you look at me?"

She was quiet for a minute until finally her head left her hands with great effort. Her eyes were red and tears marred down her pale cheeks. She was breaking Francis' heart.

"Francis?" She asked.

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and gingerly reached out. She flinched but didn't draw away when the pads of his fingers caressed the bone of her cheek.

"It's alright, Mary. I'm here."

Her knees slowly lowered to the floor and her hand reached out to find him, to touch him.

"You're real?" She asked. "Nothing is real."

"I promise you that I am real." He shuffled over so he was sitting next to her, back against the wall. "See?" He took his hand from his side and placed it on her own. She was still just as cold as she had been when they had come from outside.

"You're real." It was a statement, not a question. Full of relief and wonder and the promise of safety she had been so deprived of.

"I'm real." He placed his arm across her shoulders and drew her body towards the warmth of his chest, rubbing soft circles into her back. "I'm real. And I promise you I am not going anywhere."

**I hope you guys are enjoying this story because I am definitely enjoying writing it. I am so obsessed with Reign right now it's ridiculous. While so far I'm a Frary shipper, I know that there are plenty of Bash/Mary fans reading this so I'll be adding some love triangle drama to the mix! Please please please please pleeeeeease review! It would mean so much and it definitely helps motivate me to update faster! Hope you're all enjoying the story! **


	3. Chapter 3

The castle was quiet. A reverent hush had fallen over the walls and grounds since the screaming had stopped as everyone waited with bated breath for the fate of Mary, Queen of Scots, to pronounce itself. The problem was that fate had not decided its course yet. Francis lay, body heavy, mind full, on the soft feather bed, silent but wide awake. His ears listened carefully for the gentle rise and fall of the breath of his companion, steady and reassuring. He was warm despite the chill outside with the front of her body pressed against his side, her arm strewn across his chest in sleep. Guilt coursed through him at the pleasure he found at being in this situation, in Mary's bed with her next to him, albeit both fully clothed. His arm was tucked neatly beneath her head so his fingers could stroke soft lines across her dark hair.

It had been a long night; hallucinations had plagued Mary every moment of being awake. When Tomas had disappeared the English had taken his place, come to take her throne, her country, her life. She had shaken in terror unless Francis held her, his arms the only security, the only thing she could be sure was real in its entirety, until at last sleep had taken her. He had pulled her into his chest in her bed, whispered in her ear that everything was going to be okay and held her like a child, warm and secure in his embrace.

His body was stiff with lack of movement, pinned beneath the weight of her but he wasn't complaining. Francis ached to stretch and adjust and, almost as if she had read his mind, Mary began to stir from beside him.

Her head caressed his chest as she cleared her throat, eyes still closed, breath coming in quicker succession, until at last her eyelids, heavy with sleep, fluttered open to meet his. Francis stilled, waiting for her reaction. Doe eyes held a look of disbelief, lips trembled in fear.

"It's alright, Mary. You're okay."

Her response was silence. Mary tried to take stock of Francis statement. Was she alright? Her body was warm with sleep, pressed against Francis' side. She felt achy, stomach empty, head full.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

Mary contemplated his question. A heavy haze of confusion had settled over her, causing memories to be blurred and abstract. There were fragments of things that could not be real on top of things that could only have been real. She couldn't distinguish between the two.

"I think so." Her voice was hoarse from the hours of crying and screaming. It hurt to speak.

"How do you feel?" the concern lacing Francis' voice invoked another emotion in Mary that she wasn't initially aware of: affection.

She pushed gently off of him, her hand still placed across his chest, and propped herself upright. Her throat was dry but other than that Mary more or less felt like herself.

"Fine, I think."

Francis smiled and raised his hand to touch her cheek.

"You haven't moved all night. The pattern of my tunic is embedded in your cheek."

She raised her own fingers to feel the mark, slightly indented into her face, and smiled. As she pulled her hand away Francis put his fingers back, slowly tracing the intricate designs with a feather light touch. Mary closed her eyes and embraced his touch, the warmth was comforting and reassuring.

"What's happening to me?" Mary whispered into the palm of his hand.

Francis pushed himself into a sitting position to face her. "Nothing is going to happen to you again, Mary. I won't allow it."

"You can't protect me forever."

"I can try."

Their eyes met in a blaze of promises, ones that she wanted to believe but was afraid to, ones he wanted to keep but was afraid of not being able to.

"I'm tracking down whoever poisoned your cup last night. They will not get away with it."

Mary hung her head, desperately fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. This was not the life she imagined for herself in France, fighting another attempt on her life every couple of weeks. She was supposed to be married to Francis by now but she worried that he would never have her with all the baggage she came with.

"I want to help. I need to know who is doing this and why. I won't sit around and wait for the next attempt someone makes to kill me."

"No." Francis answered quickly. It was resolute and definitive. "It's too dangerous."

"And what, sitting around helpless is going to help me? I'm not a child, Francis. I need to do something, not just wait for you to bring me answers."

"I will not have you putting yourself in more danger than you're already in. Actively seeking out the people who want you dead is suicide, Mary."

"So I'm to just wait here for the next time then?"

"There will be no next time." His voice was low and full with promise. "I am going to find whoever this is and I am going to make sure they never try to hurt you ever again." He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying not to lose his temper with her in his attempts to protect her. "Do you trust me?" He asked, more gently this time.

Her eyes met his, unblinking in promise. "With my life."

Francis pressed a kiss to her cheek and climbed from her bed reluctantly. "Then please just stay here today. Don't leave the castle. Keep only the people you trust the most around you. I will send my most trusted guards to stand station at your door, but even them do not let in. Until these people are found we must be extra vigilant."

Mary nodded in understanding as he turned to leave.

"Francis, wait!" She called as he crossed the threshold to her door. He spun to face her, eyes alight with fire. "Thank you."

He smiled in return, genuine filled with passion, then turned on his heel and left her alone again. Mary adored the fact that Francis wanted to protect her and take care of her, but hated the fact that he treated her like a china doll in the process. She was a strong woman. A strong Queen. The leader of a country and its people, an army, a nation. She would not stand by and wait for someone else to do her work for her. If someone was trying to kill her, then she had the resources to find out who. But she would need a bit of help.

Mary walked to the door and opened it a crack until a familiar face met hers. The guard smiled.

"Good morning, Your Grace."

"Could you do me a favour and bring me Bash, please?" Mary asked. "And please make sure that Prince Francis does not hear about it."

** Okay so I won't give anything away for those of you who haven't seen the newest episode, but SERIOUSLY! Baah it makes me so frustrated. No wonder I have to write to get the type of character interaction we're all craving so desperately. Stupid Francis. I hope this vow he's made doesn't last long at all! But please review and let me know how you guys are liking it so far! Bash and Mary are going to be spending some time together coming up since Francis won't let her help. But don't worry Frary fans, I won't disappoint you either! **


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm just not sure, Mary," Bash said, torn between his desire to help her and his desire to keep her safe. "I might agree with Francis on this one."

Mary crossed her arms across her chest in displeasure. She had explained to Bash her need to find the people responsible for her poisoning but he was still reluctant to help her.

"Bash."

He didn't miss the pleading in her voice as his name left her lips.

"If you don't help me I'll just do it alone."

Bash took a deep breath. Francis would have his head if he knew that he was helping Mary, putting her in the direct path of the people who were trying to end her life. But the alternative was letting her try to track them down on her own. If he helped her at least he could protect her along the way.

Bash sighed. "Francis cannot know."

Mary released the breath that had been suffocating her. "Thank you, Bash. You don't know how much this means to me." She reached her arm across the gap separating them and placed the tips of her fingers on the muscle of his arm. The spot grew warm with her touch.

"Give me a day to get started." Mary opened her mouth to protest but Bash raised a finger to hold her off. "Mary you have my word that I will not leave you out of this, but I need one day to get some leads before I go dragging you around the castle aimlessly."

Mary jutted out her bottom lip. She didn't want to be treated like a child but understood Francis and Bash's reluctance to allow her to help.

"Alright," she admitted.

Bash smiled in relief at her cooperation. Keeping Mary safe while helping find answers for her was not going to be easy, but he was willing to do it for her.

"This stays between us, Mary."

She nodded.

"No I mean it. Francis has the power to exile me, to end my life if he sees fit. If anything ever happened to you because of my letting you get involved, he would do it. For you. And I would deserve it."

"Bash," Mary cautioned, stepping towards him. "Nothing is going to happen. Francis is your brother and he loves you. He would never do anything to harm you."

"For you, I think he would. And I wouldn't blame him because I can't say that I wouldn't do the same in his position."

Mary hung her head, emotions swirling, and placed a hand on her stomach to fight the fear that was threatening to choke her. Bash took a step towards her slowly, hesitantly, until they were close enough to touch, reached out a hand and placed his palm against her cool cheek.

"Heed Francis' advice, Mary. Just for today. Stay here and I'll come back when I have more information."

She closed her eyes against the warmth of his skin and his warning, trying to breath sanity back into herself.

"Okay," she conceded. "But only for today."

"That's all I'm asking."

Bash removed his hand and instantly felt the desire to put it back against her, touching her, loving her, protecting her in all the ways he couldn't. With every last ounce of effort he possessed, Bash turned his back to Mary and started to walk away.

"Bash?" she called after him.

He didn't trust himself to turn around and face her. If he looked at her every resolve would soften and he wouldn't be able to stay strong.

"Be careful."

He smiled to the wall, heart swelling, and walked from her rooms.

Mary found it strange to be alone for the first time in awhile. She wasn't particularly enjoying it. It left her mind too much time to wander, to think about the two men who cared about her, and who she cared about in return, putting themselves in danger to track down the people who were trying to kill her. Worry seized her. She wanted to be with them, helping them, so that she could continually know they were safe.

"Why the face, love?"

Mary spun, terror seizing her, and gazed into the face of a man she had never seen before.

"Who are you?" She asked, attempting to keep her voice steady and strong.

He grinned devilishly, his smile a promise of nothing good to come.

"I'm here to help you, love. You don't have to look so scared."

Mary glanced left and right, searching for something she could use as a weapon if needed. But with her back to the door, nothing was within arms reach at short notice. The man continued to pace back and forth, winding his way through furniture in a slow dance towards her.

"Who are you?" Mary repeated.

The smile broke again, his eyes alight with something Mary could not place.

"Let's just say that I was sent here by your cousin."

Mary couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. Elizabeth had always been afraid of Mary's claim to the English throne. A man sent here at her bequest was troubling.

"What do you want?" She tried to sound strong and unafraid but it came out as a whisper.

He sneered. "Your life, of course."

Mary was shaking, desperately looking for something that could aid her in the inevitable coming attack. "Guards!" She cried.

The man laughed, a deep, bone chilling cackle that broke her soul. "No need, love. They're long gone."

"Guards!" Mary cried again.

The man took three strides towards her and Mary instinctively grabbed the thing closest to her: a long metal fire poker.

"Oh, love," the man sneered. "Nothing will help you now."

He took the last step towards her and swung the long rod in his hand, colliding it with the side of her head in a blinding pain. Mary fell to the floor and wrapped her arms protectively around herself, shielding whatever she could cover with her fragile arms. He laughed again at her frail attempt to protect herself and she pushed her throbbing body into the corner of the room, cradling her head in her hands as her back found the safety of the wall.

"Guards!" She cried again feebly, all hope dwindling from her body. "Francis," she sobbed into her hands, wishing she could see him one last time before this end.

"Say your goodbyes, love," the man laughed.

Mary wrapped her arms around her head, shaking, praying for a salvation she never believed would come. The laugh reached her ears and Mary cringed in knowing that it would be the last sound she ever heard.

"Mary! Mary!"

She wondered if she was dead. She knew this new voice, strong and familiar and brave. Francis' voice. Except the voice was begging, terror laced into every syllable.

"Mary look at me!"

Reality stirred above her. Familiarity broke through the haze of fear. That voice was too real in its perfection to be something imagined in death. Mary wanted to look up but horror kept her face in the palm of her hands.

"Mary, please." The voice was pleading desperately, filled with anxiousness and longing.

She could feel hands, warm and soft and familiar against the cool skin of her arms, desperate in their desire. She swallowed and mustered every ounce of courage she had, lifting her head from her arms and gazing into the face of salvation.

"Francis?" She asked, sobs threatening to choke her.

"Mary." The relief was palpable in Francis' voice as his hands found either side of her face, wet with tears as he stroked his thumbs across the pale skin. "Mary what happened?"

"He was here, Francis. Some man they sent to kill me."

Francis sat on the floor next to her, one hand wiping away the falling tears from her eyes, the other stroking soft lines into the bare skin of her arm.

"There's no one here, Mary, I promise. No one at all. It's the belladonna. There's still some in you. You're safe."

She shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. "No, Francis. It was real. I swear it."

He pulled her shaking body towards him. "It's okay, Mary. No one is going to hurt you. Not while I'm here."

She craned her neck from his chest up to meet his face, wanting more than anything to believe that she had imagined the whole thing but not daring to.

"Francis, please," she begged.

Confusion and concern knit itself between his eyes. "Please, what?" he asked, not knowing what she wanted.

"Please. I need to know that you're really here." Reality was something she found little comfort it because there was no definition of it for her. Things that she was resolutely sure had happened were dreams, hallucinations made up by her mind, by the drugs. Mary found it hard to accept that anything was real anymore with no boundaries between fantasy and reality.

Francis' heart sunk with his desire to protect her and keep her safe. Slowly and gently he brought his face down to meet hers, pressing his warm lips against her cold ones, hoping to bring reality back to her with his kiss.

"Do you believe I'm real now?" He asked carefully.

Mary closed her eyes, wanting to believe but wishing for more. "I need more," Mary whispered.

Francis smiled and with that smile Mary found her reality in him. He brought himself down to her again and pressed his lips against hers, happily obliging.


	5. Chapter 5

There was an uncertainty in the air, heavy and cumbersome, when she woke the next morning. It had a dull and heady presence, winding its way through her body and mind. Dawn had blindingly found its way in through the closed window, its cool fingers stretching across the expanse of the room into dark corners, highlighting a reality she didn't trust to believe. The room was warm. The fire had died but the remnants of heat still clung to the walls and hung heavy in the air, scented with something she couldn't quite place.

Mary lay still, taking stock of her body and stretching, tight without movement. A sense of familiarity washed over her as if she had done this before. Except this time there she was without the comfort of waking to someone she trusted watching over her. She was all alone.

A knock sounded from her door across the room, followed by a cheeky face peering from behind it.

"Are you decent?" Bash asked, then walked into the room before she could answer, careful to close the door behind him.

Mary pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled the blankets tighter around her vulnerable form. "Good morning, Bash," she replied with a sheepish smile.

Bash smiled and rocked on his heels, hands clasped behind his back, brash smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "I have news for you."

"What have you discovered?" Her interest and fear both perked. Mary pulled the blankets from her body and slid from the bed to cross the room towards him.

"The English are behind it," he stated simply.

Confusion knit itself between Mary's eyes. "That's all?"

Bash smiled. "It's only been a day. Give me more time and I will uncover more for you."

"I don't have more time!" Mary cried, turning her back to him.

Bash reached out and gently grasped her arm with his hand, spinning her back to face him and pulling her closer than was decent. "No one will get to you, Mary. You have my word."

So much promise was embedded in those light blue eyes that Mary had no choice but to believe him. "I need this to be over, Bash. I can't live like this."

"You won't have to for much longer. I will put an end to it." His voice was bursting with assurance.

Mary took a step closer to breath him in, recognizing the scent from the air when she woke as the scent of Bash. She wondered how long he had been with her last night to have left such a mark upon her room after he left.

"Guaranteeing your own safety of course," she stated.

"Mary," Bash whispered, raising a hand to meet her cheek.

She closed her eyes at the rush of sensation, new and forbidden, leaning her cheek in to meet his palm. When she opened her eyes he was closer, their noses almost touching, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Mary," he breathed again.

To silence him Mary pressed her lips against his own, sweet breaths mingling in a collision of fire. Bash placed his hand on the cradle of her head, pulling her towards him and deepening the kiss and Mary gasped as his other hand found his way much further south than her waist.

She awoke with a start at the same moment Bash pulled away from their kiss, gasping for air in the same bed she had just dreamed about, hands clenching the blankets at either of her sides. Francis was at her side in a moment, standing sentinel at the edge of her bed, concern raging across the features of his face.

"Mary, what is it?" He asked.

Mary gasped the air into her lungs, begging the air to bring sanity back to her. The dream had been so real, so vivid. She could still feel Bash's hands on her body, still feel the tingle on her lips from his, still smell the scent of him against her.

"It was just a dream, Mary. Just a dream," Francis soothed, sitting on the edge of her bed and stroking her hair back from her face.

Her eyes found his, light and reassuring, and at last she caught her breath as though she had run a mile, her breathing finally returning to normal.

"Francis." His name was a breath from her lips.

"You're alright," he cooed. "What were you dreaming about?"

Mary felt her breath hitch again. "I don't remember."

Francis nodded. "The physician said vivid dreams were to be expected. Are you alright? You're quite pale."

Mary nodded her head in response and swallowed. "Just thirsty."

Francis left her side and came back a moment later with a cup of water which she gratefully sipped. "You've been out for nearly half a day. It's mid afternoon already."

Her eyes found the window, bright with late afternoon sun low in the sky. It was a cloudless and beautiful day.

"How is that possible?" She asked. She didn't even remember falling asleep, let alone sleeping well into the next day.

"I had Nostradamus make a potion for you. Something to help you rest. He did warn me that it could produce very real dreams."

"I'll say," Mary muttered to herself. Francis cocked an eyebrow, knowing she was keeping something from him but not pushing the issue.

"How do you feel?" He asked instead. "Well enough for a walk?"

Mary pushed the covers from her body just as she had done in her dream and gently placed her bare feet on the cool floor below. Her body stood powerful and strong, albeit a little shaky.

"I think so. I might need some help getting dressed though."

"I'll fetch your dressing maids," Francis said, turning to leave.

"Actually," she called after him. "My ladies don't need to be bothered with such trivial things and I don't trust any of the servants to help me. Would you mind?" She asked, a shy smile playing across her face.

Francis heart skipped a beat. "Help you…" He cleared his throat. "Help you dress?"

Mary nodded shyly. "We're engaged to be married, Francis. It's hardly improper."

"To be honest my specialty is more getting women out of their dresses," he said with a cheeky grin. "Not putting them into them. I'm not sure I know how."

"I'll guide you," Mary said, walking towards him. "Turn round while I slip this off and I'll tell you when you can look."

He hesitated, a coy smile playing across his features.

"Turn round," she scolded with a half laugh, enjoying his rare moment of light hearted merriment.

Mary watched as Francis turned his back to her, then readied the things she needed to dress. She pulled her nightgown from her body, baring her naked self to Francis' back, then slipped the loose fitting dressing slip over her head and pressed the front of her corset against herself.

"Okay. You can turn around now."

Francis turned and the sight of her took his breath away. Her bare back was almost entirely exposed, a silk gown covering all the other things he wished he could see. One of her arms hung loosely at her side, the other held her corset to her breast.

"I need you to tie the laces on this," she instructed, reaching behind her and holding one of the ties out to him.

Francis crossed the distance separating them and took the tie from her hands, their fingers brushing in a moment of electricity. He grabbed the laces from the other side and held the two together. Unable to resist himself, Francis ran one finger down the center of her bare spine, watching with pleasure as goosebumps arose to meet his touch.

"Francis," she cautioned with words, yet encouraged with her body.

"Sorry," he said, not sorry at all. "Couldn't help myself."

He missed the smile that crossed her face as he pulled the laces of the corset towards himself. "Too tight?"

"Not at all," Mary replied, waiting with patience as his deft and skilled hands tied her in. "Now I need you to hold this while I step in."

She handed him a heavy gold gown, embroidered in intricate black designs. He took the dress dumbly from her hands, holding it awkwardly. Mary smiled.

"Like this," she guided, opening the folds of the dress so the inner body was exposed, then handed it back to Francis.

"You know I'd much rather be taking you out of this," he said flirtatiously, grinning at the blush that responded to his words across her cheeks.

"As would I," she said, stepping into the dress anyways and letting it hang from her waist, her upper body still clothed in nothing but her corset and the silk dressing gown beneath.

Francis' couldn't keep his eyes off her, breathing in every inch of her perfection, his desire for her growing. "I've never wanted you more, now that I realized how easily I can lose you," he admitted in defeat. "I'm terrified of losing you, Mary."

"You're not going to lose me," she reassured, placing her hand on his arm. "I'm right here."

His gaze remained serious as his hand found the crook of her neck, the other resting against her barely clothed waist. He pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her mouth, trying to convey his desperation with his touch instead of his words.

"Here," Francis said as he pulled away from their kiss, handing her the sleeve of her dress. "Let's put this on you before I can't stop myself from taking it off you entirely."

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "All in good time."

He winked good-naturedly at her and slid the other sleeve over her arm, laced the intricate ties across her back and spun her around to face him again.

"For awhile, just a little while, let's just be a boy and a girl. Not the king or queen of anything. Today I simply want to enjoy your company."

Mary grinned, unable to think of anything she wanted more in the moment, other than all of Francis. "That sounds wonderful."

He placed another kiss against her lips, quick, like a habit they would do for the rest of their lives, and took her hand in his, guiding her to the door. A rapt knock stopped them as a face peered out from behind.

"Sorry to interrupt Your Grace, Dauphin," the guard said with an apologetic nod. "But it's Sebastian. The King has asked me to inform you that he has been gravely injured."

Mary and Francis turned to each other, sharing a look of horror, no longer just a girl and a boy, never to be just that again.


	6. Chapter 6

Her mind refused to believe the sight before her, refused to process the reality of the situation. But there was an air of undeniability that hung around them, solid and unmoveable, a force that knocked the air from her lungs. Mary stood still, hands shaking, lips quivering, and tried to quell the overwhelming fear and nausea that rose within her.

Bash lay on his back, hands motionless at either of his sides, face a mess of matted blood, caked to the soft flesh. His breath was a raspy intake of air, rattling and unsure, a faint hope of his body's attempts to heal itself.

Mary took a slight step towards him but was stopped by a gentle hand on her arm, holding her in her place.

"You don't want to see him like this," Francis whispered into her ear, his hand moving from her wrist down to lace his fingers between her own.

She was grateful for his interruption, grateful for his hand, steady and reassuring without words.

"What happened?" She asked the room at large.

Nostradamus was engrossed in his work, deft and skilled hands weaving laces across the torn flesh, eyes rapt with attention.

"We don't know," King Henry answered. "He went riding alone and his horse brought him back in this state. He's been unconscious, no one can ask him."

Mary felt the shudder that rocked through Francis pass through the point where their skin met and she squeezed his hand a little tighter, hoping to share a piece of her strength with him. His eyes found her face, tender expression full of promise.

"Will he be alright?" Francis asked, turning away from Mary reluctantly.

"It's too soon to tell," Nostradamus murmured without looking up. "But it's best if you all leave. He needs rest."

Their reluctance to leave was written across the plains of their faces but they turned from the room nonetheless, then stopped in their tracks by a cough and splutter of words.

Bash had awoken, eye alight with pain and fire, breath hissed between clenched teeth in agony.

"No." It was a whisper filled with urgency. "No, you can't."

Francis felt cool air touch his hand where he released Mary's and crossed the room to his brother, bent low at his bedside.

"Hush, Bash. Everything is fine." Hollow words filled with empty promises.

"No," Bash repeated, struggling against strong arms to sit upright. "No, you can't let them."

It wasn't Francis he was talking to. It wasn't anyone in the room before him. Bash was somewhere else, his mind in a place separate from his body.

"Mary," he croaked, voice thick.

Francis turned to her stunned face, eyes alight with fear.

"You can't let them near Mary." Every word Bash spoke was a struggle against the potion Nostradamus had given him. Sheer determination had forced him awake to declare his message.

"Who?" Francis urged. "Who can't be near Mary?"

"They'll hurt her."

Francis gripped the sides of Bash's face, turning him until their eyes met, light on light. "Who, Bash? Who is going to hurt Mary?"

Bash coughed, a spray of blood splattering across Francis' pale face, and closed his eyes, breath ragged.

"Out!" Nostradamus cried. "Your being here is not helping him."

Francis stood, body shaking. Defiance prickled his tongue. He wanted to argue with Nostradamus, wanted to shake Bash awake until the information he was so desperate to reveal released itself from the safety of his mouth. But it was abundantly clear that Bash was in no state to be of any help.

Eyes never leaving Bash's now still form, Francis backed out of the room, past his parents, past Mary, until he found the safety of the hall, trying to subdue the tremors that rocked his body. He sensed her before he saw her, the scent of her skin carried by the soft wind that blew through the corridor. She didn't speak, just crossed the space separating them and placed her hands on either side of his neck, the thrum of his heart steady under each of her palms.

He opened his eyes to meet her face, wanting to be the one to reassure her. But fear for his brother, fear for Mary, held his mouth firmly shut. Francis wanted to lean down and press his lips against hers, but a wetness on his face stopped him. He raised a hand and dragged it across his flesh, pulled it away and was repulsed by the crimson of his brother's blood which stained it. He tried desperately to wipe it away, hands shaking.

"Stop, stop."

Her voice, a whisper of urgency, of longing, of heartache. Francis placed one of his hands on the curve of her cheek, hoping to find a distraction in her face, and watched as she pulled a handkerchief from her breast.

She raised it gently to his face, the silk soft against his flesh, and carefully wiped away Bash's blood, now smudged in streaks across his cheek. The cloth smelled of her. Francis closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the moment, tried not to remember that it was his brother's blood she was cleaning from him. One of her hands steadied his waist, a warmth radiating from her palm onto his skin, cold with worry.

"Mary." His voice was a whisper of it's former self, filled with anguish and fear.

Words were empty. Mary wanted to reassure him with something with more solidity. She pressed her lips against his, softly so she could savour every curve of them. Francis held her tight against him, almost finding comfort in the arc of her back, the lines of her waist, the warmth of her body. Almost.

He pulled away, eyes burning with an intensity she could not follow.

"I can't lose you." Every ounce of anxiety and despair flowed out his mouth with his words.

"Francis." A breath of exasperation. "You're not going to lose me. I'm right here."

She pressed her palm to the curve of his cheekbone, desperate to convey her presence with her skin.

"Bash was trying to warn us. I know he was."

"We will not know until Bash wakes up and tells us that for himself. We cannot guess at such things." Fear gripped her. It sounded as if Francis was about to make an excuse.

He shook his head, pulling away from her. She felt the loss as a physical pain.

"I can't. I won't."

"Won't what?" she cried, reaching towards him but he stepped away from her hand. Rejection burned through her veins. "Francis don't push me away. Not now."

"I need to find out who is behind this."

She could see the weight of his determination settling behind his eyes.

"And we will," she spoke, taking another step towards him and sighing with relief when he didn't pull away. "Together."

"No, Mary. It's too dangerous. Until we find out who is trying to kill you, and now is trying to kill my brother, there is no _together_."

She physically recoiled from his words. "What are you saying?"

He hung his head in grief. "I will protect you with my life. And I will always love you. But right now, I can't be with you. I need a clear head so I can punish those responsible."

He said it so factually, Mary almost believed that he meant it. Instead of arguing with words she crossed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his. His hand cradled the back of her neck, deepening the kiss until he pulled away. Eyes closed, Mary sighed.

His lips found the tender skin between her eyes and he pressed a kiss there, flesh lingering against flesh, savouring her.

With every ounce of strength Francis had left, he said the words that broke his heart. "Goodbye, Mary." Then turned on his heel and left her.


End file.
